I was talking with Pop, my grandfather,
the other night. It's a bit more difficult than one may expect. You
see, Pop died back in 2000. That doesn't stop me from visiting with
him though. In order to do so I must be very tired, very stressed
out, very much missing him, and very much asleep. I figured, with
Halloween rapidly approaching, it was high time he came for a visit,
and perhaps would be a fun little story to share with you all – if
he'd just cooperate!
Not everyone in my family can do this,
but it is most definitely an inherited trait. My mom talks to Maga
(her mother) often, as does her sister. No, I'm not a psychic, it's
just one of those odd things that my quirky family can do and we
don't really think about. I can only do this with family that I had
a special connection to, so please don't ask if I can talk to your
relatives for you.
Pop loved all of his grandkids equally,
although each of us had our own special relationship with him; our's
was a particularly tight and honest one. Pop always gave me good,
practical, honest - and often brutal – advice. I miss him daily.
I found Pop in his favorite spot,
accompanied by my favorite dogs, John Deere cap in place and a big
smile on his tanned face. He loves this spot, and it's definitely
the farm of his dreams. I hadn't seen the dogs with him in some
time, so I knew he picked up on the fact that I was more than a bit
peeved. After hugs and scratches to all my pups, we plopped down on
crates to chat.
Me: So ya old-fart, where the hell
you been?!
Pop: Hey old woman, glad to see you
too. You know I can't always come when you call, it doesn't work
like that.
Me: (grumbling a bit) Yeah, yeah, I
know. Still doesn't make me any happier. I miss you, ya know. You
need to visit me more often.
Pop: I know. So what's got you all
worked up? Why're ya here? And what the hell's going on with all
those old piece of crap sewing machines you're buying up?
Me: They're not crap and you know
it. I like 'em, they're fun to work on, and they cost less than a
project car. As for the rest, I've got a test coming up – computer
stuff – and I need to finish a re-write of Jess' book. Since you
gave her to me, I figure you're the best one to talk to about this.
Pop: I don't get it. Hasn't she
told you what to write?
Me: Yep, but I keep getting the same
advice about her language over and over. And of course Rosie has to
chime in about 'proper' language and not to write 'such filth'.
Pop: Aw, hell! Tell Rosie to quit
getting her bloomers in a bunch! So Jess swears; it's just the way
she is. You know, she's a lot like you and I know
you swear just as badly.
(He's right, I do)
Me: Don't I know it! But she gives
me a head ache when I change her language. It's mostly the f-bomb
that people take issue with. Hell, Mom won't even read it.
Pop: You know your Mom's a smart
lady, maybe you should listen to her – a little bit. And take that
writer friend of yours advice; don't drop it right off the start, but
let her work up to a good outburst.
Me: (sighing) Okay, okay. I'll
listen to everyone's advice. I'm working on it but it's kind of
hard...I'm eating Excedrin like it's candy!
Pop: (laughing) Yep, that Jess' is a
firecracker. Tell that pretty blond writer friend of yours that if
I was alive and a lot younger, I'd be more'n happy to show her a good
time!
Me:
Will you always be a cute old letch?
Typical Pop, always with an eye out for
a pretty girl! Still, I love our visits - even when he acts like an old letch.
